


Over the Line and on to Borrowed Time

by Arevhat



Category: Farscape
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-15
Updated: 2010-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:24:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arevhat/pseuds/Arevhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chiana & Crais discover they have more in common than they thought.  Sequel to "running out of lives and choices" by misaditas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Line and on to Borrowed Time

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [running out of lives and choices](https://archiveofourown.org/works/78645) by [misaffection](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection). 



> This story is a direct continuation of misaditas' fabulous "running out of lives and choices". You must read her story before you read mine because a) hers is excellent, and b) this won't make any sense on its own. This is entirely built on her work, the first few lines are hers, etc - go read it.

“_Again?_” Crais asks.

“You had something better to do?”

“Come to think of it, no.”

“Didn’t think so.”  Chiana leans into the kiss, her tongue darting between his lips as his hand cups her sex.  He moans softly into her mouth, half in pleasure, half in protest, as she reaches beneath the sheet and takes him in hand.  

“Too sensitive,” Crais says and presses his palm more firmly against her.  “Give me a microt.”  

She nods, her breath quickening, and runs her fingertips over his thighs and abdomen instead.  She likes the weight of him, the substance.  The strength she feels beneath the bronzed skin, sees in eyes almost as dark as her own.  Her mouth abandons his for the hard line of his jaw, her hands roaming over his chest; Crais shivers as her nails graze his nipples and his hand rocks between her thighs.  

Chiana gasps against his neck and clenches her legs together, stilling his hand.  Her breath is as hot and wet against the hollow of his throat as her sex is against his fingers; he’s suddenly, painfully hard, but the way she nestles against him makes him fight the urge to pin her down, push himself inside her.  

“Sometimes it’s awful to be linked, but it’s worse to be alone, isn’t it?” Chiana asks, and lays her hands flat on his chest, her fingers splayed across his scars.  

Crais frowns.  Wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, his cock pressed tight against the soft warmth of her abdomen.  “Yes.”

She flutters in his grasp and he loosens it, but keeps her contained within the cage of his arms.  She lets one hand drift over the transponder at the base of his neck and says, “You’ll do it, if you can.  If…_when_ Talyn comes back, if he wants it, you’ll take the transponder.”  Chiana punctuates her words with careful kisses, her lips skimming each scar that marks his skin.  “But not only for Talyn.  Not only to guide him.  For, for you too, because you know what it can be.”  

Crais sits up on his knees and flips her onto her back, his hands spanning her waist.  He searches her face and she looks up at him, guileless.  Chiana says, “When you bleed together, when you can’t tell anymore where one ends and the other begins, it’s torture but it’s also - also -“ 

“Bliss,” Crais says.  

Chiana licks her lips.  “Yes.”

She moves his fingers higher, to the fine line that slashes across her stomach.  “They aren’t the same as a neural transponder,” she says, “but lifediscs can give you a taste.”

Crais runs his thumb across the silvered scar, feels the softness beneath, and aches for her loss.  “I didn’t realize the Nebari possessed that technology,” he says.

“They don’t,” she says, her fingers tangling with his.  “After we left Nebari, my brother and I crashed a lot of places, some nicer than others.”  Chiana pauses and her eyes darken, flicker away from his face.  “We needed to not lose each other.  Nerri thought the lifediscs would keep us close.  Safe.  But it was too - too much.”

Crais strokes her side, from her ribs to the curve of her hip.  “Yet you believe the transponder is the right choice for Talyn and me?”

Chiana hitches her shoulders and meets his eyes again.  Gives him a fractured smile.  “It’s not the wrong choice.  And I’m not Talyn and you aren’t my brother.”

Crais chuckles, covers her breast with his hand, the nipple hardening against his palm.  “Certainly not.”  

She exhales and closes her eyes as he trails his lips over her collarbone and licks the salt from the hollow of her chest.  Crais’ tongue traces the edge of her scar, and then the searing heat of his mouth covers each breast in turn.  One hand slides down to cup and knead her ass, the other captures her wrists and pins them above her head.  Chiana’s laugh becomes a moan, deep in her throat; her back arches as Crais rolls one nipple between his fingers, teasing the other with his tongue before sucking it hard between his teeth.

Chiana gasps, and bucks against the bed.  He releases her wrists and surges up to kiss her mouth; she holds his face in her hands and nips and licks at his lips, his tongue, wraps her legs around his waist and tilts her hips.  Grinds hard against his hardness, feverish with need.

“No,” Crais pants.  He rocks back, his fingers digging into her flesh, extricating himself from her limbs before moving further down the bed.

She raises herself up on her elbows and stares at him, disheveled and breathless.  “No?”  

“I haven’t finished tasting you,” he says, and she grins, falls back on the pillows.

Whatever she had expected when she had stormed his quarters it was certainly not _this_.  Crais peppers her legs with soft, lingering kisses, his lips exploring the sole of her foot, the ticklish spot on her ankle, the curve of her calf, the hollow of her knee.  By the time he finishes with her thighs she’s trembling, his breath, the tip of his tongue, hot and teasing against her sex, her heels pushing against the mattress, all thoughts of Talyn and tomorrow driven from her head and –

He pulls up, his fingers tracing the indigo scar low on her abdomen, half hidden in shadow.  A souvenir of the time spent on Rovhu - the smallest, but the most visible.  Chiana kicks at him in frustration, in shame, but he simply holds her down, made more curious by her resistance.  “What’s this?” 

“Yesterday,” she spits.  They’re all going to die and maybe she will too, but she’s been there, done that, as Crichton – her Crichton - would say.  

As Aeryn’s would.

Equal and original.

 “You’re supposed to be making me feel _better_,” Chiana says, tears stinging her exhausted eyes.  Not vulnerable, not broken, _better_.  She wants to hate Crais for this, for the memories of death and rot and horror and the worst thing she’s ever done; but he’s looking back at her with so much quiet compassion and regret that she can’t.  She lays back down and hides her face in the crook of her arm.

Crais kisses the scar.  Twice.

And then her belly, her hips, her thighs, his hands on her ass, pulling her to him, and then _frell_.

Chiana draws her legs up, her small feet planted on his broad shoulders, shudders and keens, her whole world centered on his mouth on her sex, her whole body reverberating with pleasure.  Tension builds and builds and _builds_ until she can’t see, until she has to bite her hand to keep from screaming.   She slides her feet down his back, bangs the heel of her other hand against the headboard as she collapses inward, curls around herself like a leaf.

She’s still catching her breath when Crais moves to sit beside her and brushes damp hair from her eyes and forehead.  “Did I make you feel better?” he asks.  His mouth is serious but there’s a glint in his eye; she grips his taut forearms and pulls herself up to her knees, kisses him lazily.  He steadies her with a hand on the small of her back and deepens the kiss.

“Your turn,” Chiana says against his mouth.  She palms the throbbing head of his cock and he moans; but he resists her efforts to push him onto his back and draws her onto his lap instead.  She wraps her arms and legs around him as he eases her down on his shaft, holds him close as he rocks, fluid and slow.

Crais cups her chin in his hand and runs his thumb over her parted lips.  She holds his gaze and he starts to say something, but stops.  They’ve said enough.  

Tomorrow they may die, but tonight…

Tonight he is simply thankful they are not alone.


End file.
